


The Underwhelming Return of George Ryan Ross (the third)

by frankiesin



Series: no one here is cis [6]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, High School, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jon Is Too Good For This World, Other, Ryan needs a hug, Sex Work, Trans Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: Ryan Ross has never made a good decision in their life. The new year doesn't change that, and neither does meeting a cute guy named Jon who seems too good to be true.(the Rywalk/Ryan story for nohic)





	The Underwhelming Return of George Ryan Ross (the third)

**Author's Note:**

> Side note, I wrote this back in February/March as a short story for a fiction writing class. Hopefully I've made it so that there aren't any plot holes between this and nohic, but if I've missed anything, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to know, yes, I did scream twice while reading this over.

Ryan made it a year in Seattle before they realised that they couldn’t take it anymore. The move hadn’t fixed their dad’s problems. If anything, Seattle had made Ryan’s dad worse and more abusive, and Ryan had been spending most of their time in Seattle looking for a way out. Their dad had also gotten more neglectful, and had stopped keeping track of things. Ryan had picked up the electricity bill sometime that summer, because their dad never paid it and Ryan needed something to do with their spare time.

 

They turned into an adult that year, and they were reminded that no one really knew what it was like to be in an abusive home unless they’d also been abused. There were cuts on Ryan’s arm from where their dad had hurled an empty bottle at them two nights ago. That had been the breaking point. Ryan had taken the money they had, stolen the rest, and left.

 

It was a grand total of two hundred and sixty one dollars. What Ryan hadn’t stolen from their dad, they’d made illegally. Not drugs, because Ryan didn’t want to get into drugs if they didn’t have to, but sex. For a skinny seventeen year old, they were relatively attractive. They also passed well as a twink, which a lot of creepy middle-aged men were into for whatever reason.

 

Mrs. Smith was waiting at the station when Ryan got there. They wondered how long she’d been waiting, and what she told her husband and children. Had she told them the truth? Or did they think she was off shopping at Kroger? Ryan didn’t ask her. They dropped their bag in the backseat and thanked her for the ride.

 

“Is that Spencer’s hoodie, honey?” She asked. “He’s been looking for it all winter.”

 

Ryan nodded. They weren’t feeling very talkative. Spencer’s mom was. “He and Brendon wanted to skip morning service today, so that they could be there when you came home. I didn’t let them, since it’s Christmas Eve and I didn’t know how bad the roads would be. If you’d come down earlier, we could have all gone out to lunch together, like when you were kids.”

 

There was a moment of silence in the car, where the radio signal faded into static and Ryan knew they needed to say something. They didn’t speak.

 

“Of course, I understand why you wanted to wait until the last possible moment,” Mrs. Smith said quickly, misinterpreting Ryan’s silence as offense. “You’re like a son to us, Ryan, you know that, right? You’re welcome to spend the rest of your break down here with us instead of in Seattle.”

 

“Thanks, Mrs. Smith,” Ryan said, finally. They didn’t correct her on the son part. They knew better than to correct adults when they called Ryan son, or boy, or any masculine term. Mrs. Smith didn’t mean anything bad from it. She just didn’t know that Ryan wasn’t much of a boy or a girl or anything worth calling her own.

 

Mrs. Smith spent the rest of the trip to Evansville talking about Spencer and the twins. Ryan barely remembered the twins, because they’d been four when Ryan moved to Seattle, and they’d rarely interacted with each other. They remembered Spencer, of course, because Spencer had once been their best friend. Of course, that was before Spencer and Brendon hooked up and Ryan sabotaged the two good relationships they’d ever had.  

 

It was snowing softly when Mrs. Smith pulled into the driveway, and Ryan was starting to fall asleep. They grabbed their backpack and duffle bag from the backseat and followed Mrs. Smith inside, shivering. There had been more snow in Seattle. They’d walked through the snow for half an hour to get to the first bus stop. They shouldn’t have been bothered by the cold here. Ryan didn’t accept Mrs. Smith’s offer for hot chocolate, instead asking for a bed. They were tired and wanted to sleep on a real bed instead of a bus seat.

 

Mrs. Smith took them to Spencer’s room, which had a double bed and far too many pillows. Ryan didn’t have a chance to ask for the guest room so they could avoid Spencer for longer. She smiled warmly at Ryan, wished them sweet dreams, and pulled the door closed. Ryan stood in Spencer’s room and took in all how it had changed since they’d last been in it. The drum kit in the corner was still there, but Brendon’s favourite pair of girl jeans were no longer folded on the stool. There was a set of drumsticks instead, beaten up and well used.

 

Spencer had two new pillows, one of which smelled like a fruit smoothie. Ryan kicked off their shoes and got under the covers, curling up to the smoothie pillow because it didn’t smell like their ex best friend.

 

They woke up to Spencer standing over them, eyes wide, dressed in a reindeer sweater, and holding a carefully wrapped present. He set the present on the beige carpet and lay down beside Ryan in the bed. “You know I’m not mad at you, right?”

 

“You never texted me,” Ryan countered. They’d forgotten how warm and comforting Spencer was. They were always bony and awkward, whereas Spencer was soft and chubby. Somehow, the two of them managed to make platonic cuddling work. Spencer had a haircut now that would make him look like a lesbian if he was a girl, and he’d finally gotten taller than Ryan. Ryan rolled over, into their ex best friend’s chest. “I thought, after all the shit I pulled with Pete, and then what happened with you and Brendon--”

 

“Brendon and I didn’t have sex, okay?” Spencer said, hugging Ryan anyway. “She was just pissed at you, and I didn’t want to be anyone’s rebound. Especially not my best friend’s ex-girlfriend.”

 

“So, she’s a girl now?” Ryan asked. Their face was smushed into Spencer’s shoulder. His shoulder was more muscular now. Ryan had a lot of questions. Spencer shook his head, his chin hitting the top of Ryan’s head. “Nah, she’s just using she/her pronouns. She’s somewhere on the non-binary spectrum. No one knows where. I don’t think even Brendon knows.”

 

“Is she,” it felt weird using she for Brendon. The Brendon Ryan had known was a boy who liked to wear girl clothes and let Ryan do his makeup sometimes. Ryan was going to roll with it, though. They weren’t a boy anymore either. “Is she here?”

 

“She and Dallon are at their weird Mormon service thing,” Spencer said. Ryan could tell he was rolling his eyes.

 

Ryan leaned back, wiggling out of Spencer’s startlingly strong arms. “So, they’re still Mormons?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Spencer said. “I don’t think either of them want to get kicked out. And besides, my mom already said she’s not taking in either of my datemates.”

 

“Datemates.” Ryan wasn’t sure they heard Spencer correctly. Spencer nodded. At least he looked a little guilty. “Yeah… I’m dating both of them. And, uh, Dallon’s not a guy. They’re also non-binary.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Ryan said. What they wanted to say was  _ how dare you date her, I loved her first _ , but they knew it was too late for that kind of confession. Ryan cheated first in that relationship. Ryan was the one who drove Brendon away. At the time it felt like their only option. Their dad was taking them away from everyone they cared about. They thought it would be easier to leave if they didn’t have anyone left in Evansville to miss them.

 

Ryan had never been more wrong, and they were so thankful that Spencer and his mom were good people who didn’t care that Ryan was a piece of shit.

 

Spencer hugged Ryan again, asking about Ryan’s pronouns and things, and Ryan could only nod when Spencer got stuff right, because they were trying not to cry. Maybe Spencer wasn’t their ex best friend. Maybe Spencer was still their friend. They hoped that they were right about this, and they hoped that Brendon wouldn’t hate them, and that Dallon wouldn’t think they were intruding on everyone’s lives again.

 

* * *

 

Ryan made it until January fourth before people started asking when they were going back. The thing was, Ryan wasn’t going back. They weren’t sure what they were going to do in Evansville, or where they would stay, but they weren’t going back to their dad. Their dad was an asshole, and drunk and neglectful, and Ryan didn’t want a reminder of what they’d probably be like in ten years.

 

They still had to answer Mr. Smith’s question. They did what they always did in a bad situation: they lied. “Oh, I don’t start back until the fifteenth. And you guys don’t have to drive me to the Louisville station. I’m taking a taxi.”

 

“You don’t have to pay for a taxi,” Spencer said. He was helping one of the twins--the blonde one--with her Lego set. Spencer seemed more interested in it than her. “I can skip school and drive you so that Mom doesn’t have to take time off.”

 

“Spencer James Smith, you are not skipping school,” Mrs. Smith said sternly. She turned back to Ryan, and she smiled gently. Out of her line of vision, Spencer looked at her like she was Frankenstein’s bride. “I can drive you, or pay for the taxi, whichever suits you.”

 

“No, it’s fine, I have enough money for the taxi,” Ryan said. Really, they had enough for a taxi into town, and two nights at the cheapest hotel there. Hopefully two nights would be enough to either find a job or find a shelter until they could find a job, and then they could start getting paychecks and not have to live on the streets. The Smiths would never have to know about it. Ryan didn’t want to worry them. They already had their own family to care for.

 

Mrs. Smith let it go, thankfully. Spencer didn’t. He cornered Ryan that night, demanding that Ryan tell him what was really going on. He held Ryan by their shoulders and looked into their eyes. “Ry, you’re my best friend, and I know Mom and Dad would let you stay if your dad was abusing you again. I know they put up a front sometimes, but if anything happened to you, they’d let you sleep on our couch forever.”

 

“I don’t need your couch.”

 

“Then we’ll pull out the guest bed,” Spencer said, like that really mattered. “You don’t always have to do things on your own, you know. You’ve still got friends here.”

 

Ryan shook their head again. They didn’t need the Smiths’ charity. Spencer was wrong about that: Ryan did have to do everything on their own. No one would help them out in the ways they really needed. Spencer’s family was great, and for some reason they liked Ryan, but they’d eventually get tired of having to care for a kid that wasn’t their own. Ryan would be fine on their own. They’d basically raised themselves anyway, since their mother had left when they were four and their dad had always been too drunk or too angry to be a real father.

 

They hugged Spencer and thanked him for the offer anyway. He looked like he needed a hug.

 

* * *

 

Ryan’s fake departure date came, and they called a taxi while Mrs. Smith and the twins were in another room. They packed up their bag, said goodbye to Mrs. Smith and Spencer’s two younger sisters, and sat outside so that they could avoid the twins’ asking them when they’d be coming back.

 

Mrs. Smith brought them a thermos of hot chocolate and sat on the front steps beside them. She put an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and Ryan wondered if they were doing the right thing. They couldn’t be the Smiths’ responsibility forever, but they didn’t want to leave again. Ryan just wished that the Smiths were their real parents, so that someone would love them enough to make them stay.

 

Ryan buried their face in Mrs. Smith’s shoulder, and didn’t cry, because they were seventeen and they were too old to cry on their best friend’s mom’s shoulder anymore. Their eyes were wet when the taxi pulled up at the end of the driveway, but they wiped them before hugging Mrs. Smith and fleeing to the confines of the taxi.

 

“Where to, kid?”

 

“The Econolodge, off the highway,” Ryan said. There was only one major highway in Evansville. The taxi driver would know where it was. It wasn’t a long drive, and the taxi driver didn’t make conversation. Ryan paid him in cash and bolted from the taxi to the front office, to spend most of the rest of their cash on a room.

 

The room was as shitty as expected. It smelled like a wet ashtray, and the shower curtain had been removed from the shower. The rod was still there, and Ryan found the curtain behind the toilet, with a clump of toilet mold on it. Ryan grimaced, but washed the curtain out in the sink anyway. They’d have to shower eventually.

 

The room itself was gross, and Ryan didn’t remove their shoes until they went to bed that night. The floor looked unsanitary. The bed looked unwashed, but Ryan was tired, and it was one in the morning, so they crawled on top of the covers anyway. They took Spencer’s hoodie off and wrapped it around the pillow so that they wouldn’t have to sleep on a dirty pillow. Once they were in bed, with the lights turned off and their socked feet curled up under the top comforter, they noticed how loud everything was.

 

The blinds were drawn, but there were car lights flashing outside, and Ryan could hear music blaring from someone’s car. The wall behind Ryan’s bedpost kept thumping, followed by moans and squeaks and a voice calling out things that made Ryan’s skin crawl. They knew what a drunken hookup sounded like. Their dad had had plenty of those. Ryan unfolded Spencer’s hoodie and wrapped it around their head, squeezing their eyes shut and hoping for sleep to release them from all of this noise.

 

They woke up a few hours later to sirens, and flashing blue and red lights through the blinds. Ryan’s heart raced, and they jumped out of bed, grabbing their things and preparing to get the hell out before they remembered that they had no reason to run. Spencer and his family thought Ryan was on their way back to Seattle. Brendon trusted whatever Spencer told her, since she was dating him now. Ryan’s dad was probably passed out drunk on the couch they’d dragged in from the street a few months back. No one cared where Ryan was.

 

Ryan sat down on the edge of the bed, burying their head in their hands and hating themselves for being jealous. They had no right. It didn’t matter that they’d loved Brendon first, that they’d had her first. Their Brendon was gone now; she’d become her own person and had found two people who wouldn’t leave her when they got scared. Ryan was damaged. Brendon deserved better, and Spencer and Dallon were better.

 

Ryan started to sob, their crying drowned out by the sirens and the yelling. There was a single gunshot, and Ryan flinched at the noise. They didn’t stop crying, and they must have fallen asleep again because they woke up to sun filtering in through the blinds. Their throat was dry, they needed to piss, and their whole body was stiff and sore. They rubbed their face and attended to the pissing first, before stripping down and getting into the shower with a pair of socks on. They didn’t have flip flops, so the socks would have to do.

 

Breakfast was free, thankfully. Ryan hadn’t eaten since they left the Smiths’ house the day before. Breakfast was also shitty: just some bland toast, watery milk, and a single serving box of Fruity Pebbles that Ryan hid in Spencer’s hoodie to take back to their room and eat later.

 

They also took the one good banana, which they brought along with them on their job search. Evansville wasn’t huge, like Seattle or Louisville, but it was still a city. There was even a city bus that could get them to the local university.

 

It took Ryan almost an hour to get to the campus, and they made a list in their journal of all the places they passed that might hire them. There weren’t very many. Ryan let out a sigh and got out at the Evansville University bookstore. It had started snowing again, but Ryan had taken Spencer’s old winter jacket as well as his white hoodie, and so they weren’t that cold. They wandered around campus, widening their search circle as they went.

 

They found a McDonalds near the campus that had a hiring sign on the door, and applied there. The application asked for a home address, which Ryan didn’t have anymore. Ryan used Spencer’s home address as their own. Hopefully no one would check to make sure Ryan actually lived there.

 

It was later than they thought when they headed back to the bus stop. They’d eaten their banana a while ago, and wished they had something more than a box of cereal waiting for them at the motel. They didn’t have the money for food, unless they could steal something from a nearby gas station. Ryan hadn’t been in Evansville for a while, though, so they weren’t sure if they could get away with stealing anything.

 

The bus route was closed. It was almost ten at night, Ryan was cold and starving and shivering even though Spencer’s winter coat was warm.

 

They sat down on the nearest bench for a few minutes, wondering how they’d get back to the hotel. Their clothes were back there. Their food was back there. The only thing Ryan had on them was a jacket, an empty wallet, and the phone that they were trying not to use.

 

“You working?” A voice asked from above Ryan. They looked up to see a man in a long coat standing there, a cigarette hanging from his lips and a leather wallet in his hand. Ryan swallowed. “What?”

 

“I asked if you were working,” the man repeated. “I’ll give you twenty for a blowjob.”

 

Ryan blanched for a moment, but then raised their chin and said, “make it thirty five, and we have a deal.”

 

“I’ll give you thirty five if you earn it,” the man said, and lead Ryan behind the building. Ryan got down on their knees and tried not to think about what they were doing. They’d done this before, to get enough money to leave Seattle, but they never thought they would have to do it again.  

 

They weren’t paying attention to what they were doing, but it must have pleased the guy, because he dropped a twenty, ten, and five ones into Ryan’s hands before zipping up his pants and walking off into the night. Ryan pressed the back of their hand to their mouth and sat in the snow, breathing heavily for a few moments.

 

They’d just given a stranger a blowjob for thirty five dollars. This was who they’d become.

 

They threw up on the snow, but all that came out was stomach fluid. Ryan stared at the stomach spit on the snow while they called a taxi. They got dropped off at the motel, and Ryan used some of their leftover money to order themselves food. They made sure not to eat everything they’d ordered, so that they could make it last longer. There wasn’t a fridge in the room, but the air was shitty enough that Ryan figured their leftovers would be fine.  

 

They had another night left at the hotel, and twelve dollars of blowjob money left over. They tucked the money into their wallet and climbed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. They woke up three times during the night, and after the third time, they just stayed awake and hung out outside of their room. Someone came by asking if Ryan was offering anything, and Ryan managed to get out “yeah, I can blow you,” before they were being taken down to their knees.

 

They only got fifteen out of that one, but they had no room to complain. It wasn’t enough for a third night at the motel, but it was better than nothing. Once they were paid, and the guy was out of sight, Ryan went back into their motel room and showered until their skin was pink. They didn’t cry. They were seventeen. They were almost an adult. They were going to have a real job, and get real paychecks, and then they wouldn’t need to get on their knees and blow strangers for money any more. It would be fine.

 

Two days later, they called the McDonalds to see if they’d gotten the job yet. They were out of money for motel rooms, and had spent the night shivering on a bench, trying to stay warm. They gave up their duffel bag of clothes so that they wouldn’t have to cart it around, and they were left with two jackets, a shirt, and a change of jeans. They also had their writing journal.

 

“Well, we called the address you gave us, and the person who answered said that no one by the name George Ryan Ross lived there,” the McDonalds lady said. Ryan’s heart pounded in their chest as she continued. They weren’t getting the job. They’d been found out. Spencer knew they’d lied about going back to Seattle. “I’m sorry, but unless you can provide us with a real, permanant address, you can’t work here. It’s company policy.”

 

“It’s okay,” Ryan lied. Their phone buzzed in their back pocket. It was Spencer. It had to be. No one else would be texting them.

 

They checked their phone once they’d gotten out of the McDonalds and were hiding in a back corner of the university library. It was Spencer. He was worried. Ryan, their hands shaking, deleted the text.

 

The next night, they got offered coke in exchange for sex. A gram of coke, to be smoked off the guy’s chest, and fifty bucks on top of that. Ryan didn’t say no. Getting fucked while high was different than getting fucked while not high and it made it easier. Ryan was able to stop thinking about how messed up they were, and how Spencer had found out that they’d lied once again.

 

* * *

 

The next time someone offered them coke in exchange for any kind of sex, Ryan agreed without hesitation. Coke wasn’t alcohol, they told themselves. They weren’t turning into their dad. They snorted a line and stopped thinking about that, too.

 

It was February, a month after they told Spencer and his mom they were going back to Seattle to finish their junior year of high school and two weeks since Spencer texted Ryan asking where they were. Ryan was sitting at the bus stop, holding the sleeve of Spencer’s hoodie to their nose, dabbing at the blood dripping from it. Maybe coke was a bad idea, but it wasn’t like Ryan had a better alternative.

 

Ryan shivered. They only had seven dollars left. They hadn’t eaten at all that day, even though they knew they needed to. When the bus pulled up, they got on and handed two dollars over to the driver. They’d go into town, hang around the campus, and hope that the librarians wouldn’t notice a kid sleeping amongst the bookshelves when the library shut down for the night.

 

Ryan wandered through the streets around the campus, imagining they had their life together and that they were a real college student and not a mess. They didn’t realise how late it was until they were out amongst the fraternities and off campus housing, and could hear the sounds of Thursday night parties bleeding out into the road.

 

“Hey, dude, you look cold as fuck!” Someone shouted. They weren’t talking to Ryan. Who would talk to Ryan? Ryan wasn’t worth noticing anymore.

 

“Dude, seriously,” the same voice said, this time closer and followed by a gloved hand on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan turned around and pushed the person off, but he grabbed their wrist and stopped them from running. Ryan turned around, still struggling. “Get off me!”

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just don’t want you to freeze,” the guy said. He was about Ryan’s height, with a round, stubbled face. Ryan felt like they could trust him, even though he smelled like weed and was probably a frat boy.

 

Ryan was cold, though. They shoved their hands into their armpits and shivered. “What are you offering?”

 

“I lost my two friends, but we can head back to the last party, warm up, and then maybe catch a ride to the dorms?” The guy offered. Ryan shrugged. They didn’t have anything better to do with their night. Ryan gripped their bag tighter and followed the guy back to one of the party houses. Along the way, they learned that his name was Jon, he was a freshman, and he worked on the school newspaper, doing photography.

 

“We’re looking for people who can write shit, though,” Jon said, holding the door open for Ryan. “Not, like articles and summaries of the latest sporting event. We’ve got a shit ton of journalism kids. We need people who write, like, fiction. Or poetry or shit like that.”

 

“You’ve said shit about three times,” Ryan said. They didn’t say that they wrote poetry. No one had seen their poetry, not even Brendon or Spencer. Spencer didn’t know that Ryan held kept their poetry with them wherever they went, because it was the only thing that could get them through their father’s abuse. Their journal was tucked in the bottom of their bag, cushioned by a scarf and a pair of jeans.

 

“Sorry,” Jon said. “Did you want a drink?”

 

“I’m underage,” Ryan said, trying not to visibly flinch away from Jon. A vision of their alcoholic father passed out in front of the apartment in Seattle flew through their mind. “I don’t drink.”

 

Jon nodded. “That’s fine. Do you smoke?”

 

“No,” Ryan said.  _ I just snort coke off of random guys who want to fuck me. _ They didn’t say that. It wouldn’t fit in with the small talk.

 

“Alright, we can just go sit somewhere,” Jon said, and led Ryan over to a couch that had an empty seat. The two squeezed into the spot that was meant for one person, fitting only because Ryan was skinny and Jon was shorter than average. Somewhere along the way, Jon acquired a bottle of beer, and was holding it in his hands, not drinking from it and instead running his thumb around the rim. Ryan felt like they were melting into the couch. It was warm inside. There was indie music blasting from the kitchen and a handful of people yelling over a game of beer pong.

 

“So, not to be lame, but what’s your major?” Jon asked after a few minutes of just people watching. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around campus yet, and I know a lot of people.”

 

“I’m,” Ryan didn’t have an answer for that. They couldn’t say that they were a high school dropout, so they lied. “English. Not officially, though. My dad didn’t want me to fixate on one thing before I was certain about where I wanted to go in life.”

 

“That’s cool,” Jon said. “So, are you a literary English guy or a hippie writer guy?”

 

“I’m not--” Ryan said, cutting themselves off before they could say that they weren’t a guy. Jon was, so far as Ryan knew, a straight guy who liked indie weed parties and bringing in random people from the cold. Jon was not an ally, or a friend.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being a hippie writer guy,” Jon said, like that was the thing throwing Ryan off. “A lot of the people at the pride center are hippie writer English majors, and they’re all really great. I mean, some of them are pretentious about the English language, but mostly they just like writing about gay shit.”

 

“You’re gay then?” Ryan asked.

 

Jon nodded. “Pan and ace, specifically. You should come by the center, even if you’re just an ally. Allies are always welcome, especially if they bring food.”

 

“I’ll try,” Ryan said, and Jon grinned. Ryan’s chest clenched up, and they wanted to tell Jon everything. They wanted to tell him that they were gay, and non-binary, and that everything they’d said up to that point had been a lie. That was a bad plan, though, so they kept their mouth shut and let Jon do most of the talking for the night. It was four in the morning by the time the party cleared out, and Jon offered to let Ryan spend the rest of the night at his dorm if they wanted to. Ryan agreed, telling themselves it was only because it would be nice to have somewhere warm to sleep for the night.

 

Jon’s dorm was decorated with a giant transgender pride flag on one wall and a generic pride flag with a giant weed leaf in the center on another wall. The windows were thin and tall, and one of them was still open. Jon rolled his eyes and shut it. “My roommate’s an idiot. And probably off with his girlfriend again. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you know how people get on Valentine’s Day.”

 

Ryan nodded and sat down on Jon’s sheets, which were cold under Ryan’s ass. The room smelled like Febreze and vanilla, which was an obvious sign that there was weed hidden somewhere in the room.

 

“Right, so, I’m tired, you’re probably tired, I have a sleeping bag if you want it, or you can just share with me and we can try not to spoon and make things too awkward,” Jon said, kicking his shoes off and toeing them into a corner of the room. He didn’t move to get further undressed. “Dude, seriously, you have to tell me something. I can’t read minds yet.”

 

“Are you assuming you will?”

 

Jon grinned. “That’s the goal. If photojournalism doesn’t work out I’m hoping I’ll end up in the X-men with my cool ass mutant powers or something.”

 

“Good luck,” Ryan said, and kicked off their own shoes. They were definitely taking Jon up on his offer to share the bed and try not to spoon. Ryan hadn’t had a nice bed in forever. They pulled back the covers and slid under, curling up with their back to the wall. Jon kept staring at them, like he was waiting for something. Ryan glared at him. “What do you want?”

 

“Could you turn around while I change?” Jon asked. “I don’t want to wait until my suitemates are out of the bathroom.”

 

“Sure,” Ryan said, rolling over. They’d seen plenty of naked guys before, and it was never a problem, but maybe Jon had weird scars he didn’t want anyone else to see. Ryan listened to the shuffling of Jon’s clothes, and felt the bed dip as Jon climbed in with them. Ryan didn’t turn around, figuring it would be easier and less awkward if they weren’t facing each other while they slept.

 

“Hey, before I get the desk light, you don’t have anywhere to go tomorrow morning, right?” Jon asked. Ryan shook their head.

 

Jon moved, and the light in the room went out, bathing the two into darkness. “Alright. Goodnight, Ryan.”

 

Ryan managed to sleep for a few hours. When they woke up, Jon was still asleep, and he was between them and the door. Ryan really wanted to go out of that door. They had to piss, and they also didn’t want to be in the same room as a guy they didn’t know, especially after the guy had been nice and friendly and not asked for anything in return.

 

They climbed over Jon, careful not to wake him up. They grabbed their things from the floor and headed for the door.

 

“Hey,” Jon’s voice said from the bed, and Ryan froze. “Where are you going?”

 

“Bathroom,” Ryan said.

 

“You don’t have to take everything with you to piss,” Jon said. Ryan turned around. Jon was sitting up in bed with the blanket around his shoulders. His hair was a mess, and it made him look like a cockatoo. He pulled the blanket around himself tighter. “You don’t have to sneak out and do the walk of shame thing, you know. We didn’t do anything last night, so we can still go and get breakfast or whatever.”

 

“I don’t do breakfast,” Ryan said, because they couldn’t say that they didn’t have any money for breakfast. “I should probably go, anyway. I don’t want to be a burden.”

 

“You’re not a burden,” Jon said. “You’re… well, I don’t know much about you yet, but you seem like a cool guy.”

 

“I’m not,” Ryan said.

 

“I’ll never know if you leave now and disappear back to wherever you came from,” Jon said, a grin slowly spreading over his face. He stretched his legs out, his feet dangling an inch above the floor. “So, what do you say we get cleaned up, grab coffee or whatever, and then re-meet up on Saturday? My friend’s band is playing at a local bar a few blocks from here. We could go hang out there if you’d like?”

 

Ryan nodded, even though they were underage and had no idea what they’d do for the next day and a half. Whatever it was, hopefully it would involve them getting money and/or some more coke. They were starting to feel the withdrawal and get twitchy, the way Brendon did whenever her ADHD started to act up..

 

Ryan and Jon got coffee. Ryan lied and said they’d lost their wallet so they didn’t have to waste their last five dollars on over-priced Starbucks coffee, and the two of them talked about college. Ryan made their college life up, and Jon believed it. Jon left the Starbucks before noon, because he had two classes that afternoon and he was a good person who went to class whenever he wasn’t hungover. Ryan waited for about ten minutes before leaving the Starbucks as well. They didn’t want to loiter somewhere where they couldn’t pay for coffee.

 

* * *

 

When the time came to meet up with Jon, Ryan was tired, shivering, and wearing the same clothes they’d had when they last saw him. Jon probably thought that they were a weird kid, and he was hanging out with Ryan because he pitied them. They were a trainwreck of a human being. There was no other reason for Jon to want to take them to see a show.

 

Ryan’s heart sank, and they blinked back tears that couldn’t be explained away by the cold wind. They liked Jon, as a person, and they wanted a chance with him. They didn’t want to be alone anymore. Ryan pulled out their journal and started writing out their thoughts, turning their angst and their feelings into something poetic.

 

“Hey, what’re you working on?” Jon asked, his boot covered feet appearing beside Ryan.

 

Ryan snapped their journal shut and stuffed it into their bag. “Nothing. Some dumb poems and shit.”

 

“That’s cool,” Jon said. He was wrapped up in a scarf and a beanie, and he looked adorable and cozy. “You should submit it to the paper. Anonymously, if you don’t want people to know you wrote it.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Ryan said, and stood up. Jon offered to let Ryan drop their bag off in his dorm again, and Ryan let it happen, even though they didn’t want to be tempted by a warm bed after the concert. They needed to get back on their semi-nocturnal schedule, so that they could get more customers and get enough money for a room at the motel. They were tired of having to pass out in the back corners of the university library.

 

The bar was small and crowded, much like Ryan expected it to be. They’d been there once before, when they were about twelve. Their dad had been blackout drunk, and he’d gotten loud and angry. The manager had called Ryan’s house, telling them to come pick up their dad, not realising he was talking to a child. Ryan had showed up and done their best not to cry or act like they were used to their dad being like that. Ryan remembered the yelling and the smell of stale beer as the memory washed over them. They flinched, gagging on nothing.

 

Jon looked over his shoulder at them. His face was etched with worry. “We can go back to my dorm, if you’re not comfortable. Concerts aren’t for everyone.”

 

“No,” Ryan said. “I want to be here.”

 

They didn’t mean that they wanted to be at the bar. They wanted to be with Jon, because he felt familiar. He felt like something genuine, something that wouldn’t bite Ryan in the ass.

 

There was a guy at the door who stamped everyone who came through without bothering to ask for ID. Jon grabbed a hold of Ryan’s hand once they were inside, and then grabbed both of their hands when he noticed how cold Ryan was. The two moved over to a booth, Jon walking backwards and rubbing his hands over Ryan’s as they settled in. Jon pulled off his gloves and offered them to Ryan.

 

Ryan shook their head. “I’m fine. I usually just stuff my hands in my pockets.”

 

“I just don’t want you to get hypothermia and lose your hands,” Jon said. “Then you couldn’t write your poetry and anonymously send it to the school paper.”

 

“You really want me to publish my shit, don’t you?” Ryan asked.

 

“I really just want to read something interesting in the school paper for once,” Jon said. “Everything’s news, and it’s all boring. No one has any opinions anymore, and I’m starting to worry for our editor’s sanity. You can only read so many articles about local events before you get homicidal.”

 

“Are you writing about this event?” Ryan asked. They didn’t want to talk about their poetry. They’d written down all their dark secrets in that notebook. They’d hidden them under metaphors, but they were afraid that Jon would see through all of the metaphors and realise that he was hanging out with the friendless child of an abusive alcoholic.

 

The opening band started, and Jon grabbed Ryan’s hand, pulling them up from their seat and towards the stage. The music was loud, and the band was bad. Ryan would never go to a show like this on their own. They jumped alongside Jon and acted like they enjoyed this kind of music. They wanted Jon to like them. They didn’t deserve Jon’s attention, but they were trying to get it anyway.

 

Jon’s friend was the lead singer and guitarist for the third band, and Jon sang along with most of the lyrics. He pushed against Ryan, grinning up at them. “Laura’s pretty great, right?”

 

“I don’t know the words,” Ryan said.

 

Jon rolled his eyes, grinning anyway. “You don’t need to know them. Just pay attention.”

 

Ryan did. They didn’t see what all the fuss was about. There was something about fighting back, and the lead singer seemed really angry. Ryan frowned. “What am I supposed to be paying attention to? She just sounds like a punk singer.”

 

“Dude, come on,” Jon said. “She’s singing about what it’s like to be trans. She’s trans.”

 

Ryan’s heart swooped in their chest. They were trans. The singer—Jon’s friend, apparently—was also trans. Had Jon somehow figured it all out?

 

They looked down at Jon, seeing him for the first time as someone other than just a potential friend. He was kind of cute. He was really cute, and he acted like he was genuinely interested in Ryan. Ryan didn’t know what to do about that. Jon didn’t seem real.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Jon asked suddenly, holding onto Ryan’s shoulders and looking them in the eye. “You look like you’re gonna pass out or something.”

 

Ryan shook their head, but Jon pulled them away from the stage anyway. He kept his hand on Ryan’s back, rubbing them gently as he led them away from the crowd, to the badly lit hallway, so that the two of them were separated from the rest of the venue. Ryan leaned against the wall, resting their head on Jon’s shoulder. They closed their eyes for a moment, and just listened to the music, which was as loud back here as it had been right in front of the band. They could hear it better now that they weren’t directly under the speakers. The lead singer was singing about how she hated being seen as a man, and how she’d never been a man. Ryan could relate.

 

They wished that the singer had a song about crushing on a cute guy who was way out of her league. Ryan could really use a song about that. They were terrified. They didn’t know how to handle having a crush on someone who didn’t know their tragic backstory.

 

“I don’t know how frequently you go to shows, but if you’re dehydrated I can get you some water,” Jon suggested. Ryan lifted their head from Jon’s shoulder, and realised that they didn’t have to be afraid. They’d run away from Seattle, and from their father. They were basically an adult, and if they wanted to do something, there was no one left in their life to stop them. They weren’t dating Brendon anymore, and Spencer wasn’t about to jump out from behind the curtain and judge Ryan for making rash decisions. Ryan could do whatever they wanted. Ryan could have this. They grabbed Jon’s face in their hands and pulled him down for a kiss.

 

Jon kissed back, and Ryan's chest felt both hollow and full at the same time. It was the best feeling in the world, and Ryan never wanted it to stop, so they kissed him harder and moved their hands down to his hips, and up under his shirt.

 

Jon jerked back, pulling Ryan's hands away and looking terrified. “Whoa, dude, what're you doing?”

 

“I don't know,” Ryan said. “But you're hot and I want to make you feel how I do when I look at you.”

 

“I already do, I think,” Jon said, reaching out and taking Ryan's hands in his. Ryan moved to kiss Jon again, to try and show him that they were good at what they did, that they could make him feel good, but Jon leaned away. He shook his head. “You don't have to try and prove yourself to me, okay? I like you, and I like hanging out with you.”

 

“So, do you or do you not want to kiss me?” Ryan asked, because they were very confused and getting mixed messages as to what Jon wanted with them. It wasn't friendship, because friends didn't kiss each other the way Jon had kissed Ryan, but it didn't seem to be the alternative, because Jon didn't look like he wanted sex from Ryan.

 

Jon let go of one of Ryan's hands to rub his hand over his face. “I want to kiss you, duh. I don't take just anyone out to a show. But I'm ace, Ryan. I don't want to have sex with you, or anyone.”

 

“Right,” Ryan said. They weren't sure where to go from there.

 

“I'm also trans, which might be a part of why I'm kinda icky about the whole sex thing,” Jon said, breaking eye contact with Ryan and rubbing his thumb over the back of their hand. “It's… it's really dysphoric, the whole sex thing, and I really like you and I want to get to know you more and… shit.”

 

Jon looked up at Ryan. His hair was curling from the sweat forming on his forehead, and his eyelashes were way too long and pretty for a guy. His hand was warm in Ryan’s the callused on his fingers rough against Ryan’s soft palms. “I want to date you, officially. I want us to be boyfriends.”

 

“Boyfriends,” Ryan echoed.

 

“Yeah, if you’re down for it.”

 

“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “I’m not a boy, and I’m not… I’m not like you. I’m not in college, or cool or anything you think I am.”

 

“I know,” Jon said. “I know you don’t go here, because I asked around and no one knew a kid named Ryan who wrote secret poetry and wore the same white hoodie every day, even when it was cold. I don’t care that you lied about that, and I don’t care if you’re not a guy, or a girl, or anything. I like Ryan, for whoever they are.”

 

“I’m a high school dropout,” Ryan said.

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“You should,” Ryan said, their voice sharper than they intended. Jon cupped their face in his hands and tilted their head so that they had to look him in the eyes. Ryan swallowed thickly. “I’m a mess, Jon Walker. And you deserve better than me. I like you, but I’m a shitty person and all I do is destroy the people I care about. I don’t want to destroy you.”

 

“You won’t,” Jon said, letting go of Ryan’s hand to cup their face with both of his. “I won’t let you.”

 

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” Ryan said.

 

Jon leaned in and kissed them, gently, in a way that made them feel safe. When Jon pulled back, his eyes flicked up Ryan’s face, slowly, like he was seeing them for the first time, and instead of wanting to leave, Jon wanted to stick around and enjoy Ryan for a while. He rubbed his thumb over Ryan’s cheek. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, then? We can go somewhere quieter, if you’d like.”

 

They ended up back at Jon’s dorm, because his roommate was still out and Ryan didn’t have anywhere else to go for the night. The two of them sat on Jon’s bed, facing each other, and Ryan told Jon how they ended up here. They left out the cocaine part, because they were ashamed it had even happened. They knew it was a problem, and they knew it would come back and bite them in the ass, but they weren’t ready to deal with that yet. They’d tell Jon eventually.

 

When they got to the part about Spencer, Jon reached out and took their hands again. He asked, “Do you want to contact him? He seems like he has good intentions, and you need more friends than just me.”

 

“He’d try to make me move in with him and his parents,” Ryan said. “I can’t do that. They do enough for me, and I don’t want to be a burden on anyone’s life, especially since my dad was a burden on me.”

 

Jon pulled Ryan in, running his fingers through Ryan’s overgrown curls. They hadn’t had a real haircut in months. Jon kissed their head. “Say you’re living with me, then. But, seriously, if Spencer’s your best friend like you said he was, he should know what’s going on with you.”

 

Ryan nodded against Jon’s chest. They agreed to text Spencer back, and officially move into Jon’s dorm with him, since his roommate was barely there anymore and had started moving all of his things to his girlfriend’s apartment.

 

Ryan couldn’t sleep that night. They sat up on their elbows and turned around to look at him. He looked serene. A small smile crossed Ryan’s face before they realised what they were doing. They turned away, their face heating up even though Jon couldn’t see them, and grabbed their phone from the bedside table. So far today, being impulsive had worked out for them. Ryan hoped that their luck wouldn’t run out. They opened a new message and typed out Spencer’s number, memorized from a long period of time where they hadn’t been able to afford their own phone and had had to call Spencer from any available phone they could get their hands on.

 

They took a deep breath and typed out a short message.  _ Hey, sorry for worrying you. I’m back in Evansville and staying with a friend I made (he’s in college and I promise he’s not weird or anything). Sorry we’ve been awkward/out of touch but I’ve been thinking about what you said and I want to reconnect. _ They closed their phone and put it back on the charger before they could regret sending it, because they were afraid Spencer wouldn’t respond, or he’d say he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to see Ryan ever again. Ryan turned onto their back and stared at the ceiling.

 

“Hey, are you awake?” Jon whispered.

 

“Yeah. I thought you were asleep so I texted Spencer.”

 

“What’d he say?”            

 

“I don’t know,” Ryan said, their voice cracking at the end. Jon reached out and took their hand in his, squeezing gently. Ryan curled on their side so that they were facing Jon. He squeezed their hand again, and this time, Ryan squeezed back. “I’ll check in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos to yell at me and/or adopt Ryan as your child!


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